Thursday, March 9, 2017

THE GREAT GATSBY = A Study in Undergraduate Adaptation

Two weeks ago I have a paper
via Skype to a conference in Croatia, an experience that gave me the chance to practice
what I preach in pedagogical terms. I
talked about my classes in adaptation studies, their purpose and their stated
outcomes designed to benefit learners and educators alike.

Four days later I resumed my
teaching duties at Başkent. I have been
only one course to teach to allow me time to recover from the series of
illnesses I’ve experienced this winter, including a lung infection, a third recurrence
of my thyroid cancer, two detached retinas and the removal of two rotten teeth.
After that lot, I have to admit that I was apprehensive of entering the
classroom once more. My voice has
improved, but I now have to wear eyeglasses, both for reading and seeing in the
distance. This is the first time I have
ever worn them in my life. I also walk a
little slower to build up muscles in my legs that were wasted during
hospitalization. For the first time ever
I now realize that I’m aging; in two years I will reach my seventh decade.

As I went into the class for
the first time, I was genuinely scared.
I was no longer the loud-voiced, charismatic figure of old, but someone
who needed the learners’ support to make the class work. When I talked about collaboration in my
Croatia talk, I never realized just how important this would be in the
future. Now I could not see the learners’
faces without my distance glasses, and I must have looked a little wizened to
them.

An adaptational process had
taken place, but one that was not of my own or the learners’ making, especially
as I no longer possessed the vocal strength to teach without a portable
microphone. For the first ten minutes of
the first lesson, myself and the learners regarded one another with a kind of
benevolent suspicion; I had taught them before when they were freshmen and
women, but I wasn’t the same person any more.
Then the atmosphere changed: I asked the learners to do a warm-up
activity prior to their studying Fitzgerald’s Great Gatsby, and they set about constructing a role-play with
relish. Dividing themselves into small
groups of four – without my asking them to – they found copies of the text on
their smartphones and began to discuss what to do.

I was quite simply blown
away. I had taught this group for their
entire first year, and they had been noticeably reluctant to do any role-play
or dramatic activities, or to engage in independent work through group
interaction. Now they were happily
chattering away amongst one another, apparently oblivious to my presence. I could circulate round the classroom and
speak to them in a quiet voice (I can’t speak any other way without a
microphone), offering suggestions when called for. It was as if they had understood my physical
limitations while trying to provide spaces for me to communicate. The preparation for the role-play went on and
on – for thirty minutes at least – before they all announced that they were
ready to perform.

I watched as they improvised
various situations, using their coats, books and bags for various dramatic
purposes. This was truly theater based
on the “two planks and a passion” principle, where no props are required except
the most basic elements, and enthusiasm helps us forget the performance’s
shortcomings. To say they were
enthusiastic is an understatement; they went about their tasks with relish,
while the learners in the audience offered moral support through laughter and
by taking photographs and/or films on their smartphones. The class-time sped by, and by the end the
learners were filing out of the room chattering eagerly amongst themselves,
while I was left in a state of euphoria, wondering what on earth I had just
experienced.

My language might be slightly
hyperbolic, but the experience was quite unlike anything I had known before in
a lengthy teaching career. The learners
had quite literally looked after me, by making sure I was sufficiently
entertained by their role-plays while ensuring that I did not have to talk too
much. We talk blithely of “learner-centered”
teaching, but for me this class had been a classic example of “flipping” –
turning the lesson over to the leaners = with minimum educator input. I realized just how much learners could
construct classes on their own, and in the process acquire an enhanced
understanding of the power of negotiation and collaboration.

The same phenomenon has
resurfaced in the last two classes with the same group. Today they decided to draw pictures of scenes
from Gatsby, and use the experience
to construct their own dramas depicting the brittle relationship between Tom
and Daisy Buchanan, which for them had distinct echoes of the soap-operas that
dominate local television.

How can we assess this kind of
learning? I constantly read articles about
the standardization of education, with assessment procedures dominated by
figures and league tables. I make no
apologies for being quixotic, but I believe what we have done in class promotes
the kind of engagement, learning, and adaptation that no exam-based program
could provide. So there.